


Comfort

by featherjean (joyfulfeather)



Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 18:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joyfulfeather/pseuds/featherjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of a tragic day, Cal and Gillian turn to each other for comfort and solace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flyakate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyakate/gifts).



> This turned out angstier than I expected! Angst, hurt/comfort. Warnings for suicide (mostly off screen and not of a main character).

Gillian's hands wouldn't stop shaking.

She reached for the bottle in the cabinet beside her desk, realizing only belatedly that they'd emptied it after the _last_ crisis. They had too many, these days.

Hesitating only a moment, she got up and headed for the door, switching off the lights in her office as she went. Cal kept a bottle of something these days, too. With any luck, the man himself wouldn't be in his office. He should have left by then; should have gone home and hugged his daughter, gotten some sleep, maybe put the awful day behind him.

Instead, his office lights were on. Of course he hadn't gone home.

Gillian paused in his doorway, caught by the video playing in slow-motion on the wall. There was no sound. The picture was of two men: one with a gun at his side, the other, unarmed but showing no fear. No obvious fear, she amended silently; she could see it, though she doubted anyone else could.

She'd seen his fear the first time she watched this play out, too. Then, she'd been as scared as he was, or more. Watching now, she felt sick, not scared.

She couldn't look away as things on the screen grew heated, a silent and slow-motion yelling match between the pair. She couldn't look away even as the gun came up --

Even silent, even in slow motion, she _felt_ the shot. Her body jerked, a small sound escaping from her lips as the body on the screen crumpled to the ground.

The playback paused, then rewound in high speed. The man was back on his feet, the weapon once more at his side. Then playback resumed, slow again, exactly the same as before.

Gillian shook her head. "Cal."

The man sprawled in the chair in front of the screen didn't so much as twitch at the sound of his name. She didn't bother to try again. Instead she strode over to him, stopping the video herself.

That got his attention. "Oi!" He frowned at her. "I was watching that."

"How many times have you watched it?"

He looked away. "A few."

She sighed. "Cal --"

"I missed it." He gestured at the screen, still looking at her. "I was standing right in front of him, and I missed it. I thought he was more of a danger to _me_ than to himself. I'd have bet on it." He looked back at the screen, his face dark. "And I was wrong."

"You're human, Cal," Gillian told him softly. "You're not a mind reader. There is no universal microexpression for _'I'm about to kill myself.'_" She had to stop, swallowing hard and looking away. "There is... anguish," she went on, a catch in her voice. "Pain. Fear. All things that make different people react differently. Put two people in the same situation, feeling the exact same emotions, and they could react in complete opposite ways."

Cal shook his head, eying the man on the screen. "No. I mean, yeah," he waved a hand, conceding and dismissing her point, "but there should have been a tell. There must have been. And I missed it."

"_We_ missed it," she corrected him sharply. "I might not have been in the room, but I was watching -- _this_." She gestured at the screen. "I didn't see it, either."

Now he looked at her -- really looked at her. "I've been studying suicides for as long as I've been doing this," he reminded her, his tone subdued.

She sighed and sat in the chair beside him. "This was nothing like your mother."

He looked away.

"The circumstances were completely different. The personalities, the reasons..." She leaned forward. "Your mother --"

"Don't."

"You know I'm right," she said softly.

He was silent for a long moment. "All the more reason for me to watch this, then." He nodded to the screen. "If every suicide's different, then I need to understand this one. So that next time I'm in front of someone like James Carmichael, I can see it and stop it."

It was Gillian's turn to be silent as she digested his words. "I get it," she conceded finally, nodding slightly. "But the video will be there in the morning. You need to go home. Hug your daughter. Try to sleep."

"Nah." He shook his head. "I can't put this on Em. And home's too quiet without her. I'll sleep here."

She gave him a look. "You _won't_ sleep. At best you'll pass out for a couple of hours in that chair, or if you're lucky, on the couch."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, "I wouldn't sleep at home, either." His expression shifted as he glanced at her, concern peeking out through his eyes. "But you should, love." He reached over and touched her hand with one finger. "You should go home. Sleep."

Sleep sounded wonderful. She mustered a small, wry smile. "I'm not sure I'll be able to, myself," she admitted. "Every time I close my eyes..." She glanced up at the screen. In the paused picture, James was still on his feet, but in her mind's eye she saw him lift the gun... Shuddering, she turned away. "Even if I do sleep," she added quietly, "I have a feeling I'll have nightmares."

Cal's hand curved around her own, his fingers squeezing gently. "If you do, call me. Alright?"

She glanced at him, a little surprised. Offering another quick smile, she said, "Sure."

He tugged on her hand. "I mean it. I'll be up."

She wasn't sure what to say. He would see through the lie of a yes, but an outright no seemed overly harsh. She maintained the small smile, staying silent.

After a moment, he let go of her hand. "Yeah." He leaned back in his chair, his expression abruptly unreadable. All she could tell was that he was weighing something. She waited.

"You know," he said finally, "There's another option." He hesitated. "I go home, and you come with me."

She paused. They'd done that before -- he'd shown up on her doorstep after a bad day, slept in her spare room. She shook her head slightly. "You don't have a guest room, and I don't want to sleep on the couch -- or make you sleep on the couch."

He regarded her steadily. "You're misunderstanding me, love."

Her heart tripped in her chest as she grasped his meaning. She let out a breath, looking down at her hands. "Cal..."

"Just sleep." At her surprised glance, he shrugged a little. "That's all I'm suggesting. Look." He leaned forward, closer to her. "If we're in the same place but different rooms, I still won't sleep, and you still won't come get me if you have a nightmare."

She laughed quietly, shaking her head. "I'm not five years old, Cal."

"You don't have to be five to need or want comfort." He glanced at the screen. "It'd be comfort for both of us, really. You know I'm not going to sleep, otherwise."

"And you will if we're... in the same place?" In the same _bed_, her mind amended. She looked at him, trying to read him, but he was guarded. There was no way to tell if he was sincere, or if he wanted... more. She wasn't even sure what _she_ wanted. The idea of sleeping in his bed, of finding comfort in his arms, was incredibly appealing. More than that was... also appealing.

There were a lot of forms comfort could take.

She let out a breath as he grinned a little, shrugging. "Couldn't hurt, right?"

After a moment, she nodded. "I would sleep better with company," she said softly.

Whatever his reaction was, he hid it well. "Right then." He hit a button and the wall screen mercifully turned off. "Come on."

She stood when he did but didn't follow him towards the door. "Maybe I should drive separately," she suggested. "Meet you there."

He turned, eying her warily. "If you go home, you'll change your mind."

The way he held himself, the way he shifted his weight and gaze -- the insecurity he was displaying almost made her smile. She shook her head slightly. "I'll need to go home in the morning," she pointed out. "I can't show up here wearing the same dress two days in a row. People would notice." She paused. "They'd talk."

His hesitation spoke volumes about how much he'd care if people talked. She held his gaze, though, and he nodded. "Just don't disappear, or I'll have to come after you."

She did smile at that. It felt a little awkward on her lips after the events of the day, but it was a real smile. "I won't."

True to her word, she followed him closely all the way home. He didn't make a comment, but she saw a hint of relief in his eyes when she met him in the driveway. "Right then," he said quietly, and led her up and into the house.

Once inside, he headed for the kitchen. "Do you want something to eat?"

Gillian hung up her coat and followed more slowly. "I'm not really hungry," she admitted, taking a seat on a stool in front of the island.

Cal glanced back at her over his shoulder. "You should probably eat something."

She offered him a wry smile. "Usually I'm the one doing the mothering."

That earned her a brief grin. "Right. I'm going to make myself a sandwich."

"I'll just steal bites of yours, then."

She watched him get out the various sandwich makings and set them on the counter. It was soothing to watch him do something so ordinary. It was so completely at odds with what had happened earlier that it almost seemed like it had happened to someone else. Almost.

When he held up a bottle of wine, she nodded. He filled two glasses, handing one to her. She contemplated it briefly. "You know, this is why I was coming to your office. Alcohol," she amended. "I was going to borrow the bottle you keep in there. Mine is empty." She met his gaze briefly.

He grimaced. "It has been a hell of a year."

"Yeah." She sipped from her glass, watching him as he took a seat across from her. "How is Emily?" she asked, changing the subject. "I haven't seen her in a week or two."

"She's good." His smile was fleeting but real. "She's already wishing for spring break."

Gillian reached over and plucked a bit from the half of the sandwich he wasn't holding. "Are you guys going to go somewhere?"

"Don't know. She wants to go somewhere with her friends, but..." He shrugged, looking down at the sandwich in his hands. "I worry."

The little bite should have been good, but her stomach rebelled anyway. She took a sip of her wine, looking away. She just didn't feel _right_. The shaking in her hands had mostly stopped, but the rest of her...

Cal fell silent -- thinking about Emily, maybe. Gillian watched him eat for a few minutes, then set down her glass. "I think I'd like to just go to bed, if that's okay."

"Of course. D'you need --"

"Sleep clothes?" she asked, sliding off the stool.

He squinted in thought. "T-shirts in the second drawer, shorts in the third." His glance was a question, and she nodded. He nodded back. "You still carry a toothbrush in your purse?"

"I do," she told him with a hint of a smile. "Thank you."

"I'll be up in a few, myself."

"Okay." She felt his eyes on her as she left the room.

Going through the motions of getting ready for bed did nothing to dispel her unease. If anything, it made it worse. It seemed like everything should have revolved around the earlier events -- she had witnessed a man's death, his _suicide_ \-- and yet here she was, brushing her teeth as though nothing had happened. It wasn't logical. She knew that. Life went on, no matter what happened.

Except that for James Carmichael, it _didn't_, and she couldn't get the moment of his death out of her head.

There was a weight in her chest that made it hard to breathe. Somehow she made it to the bed and under the covers. The warmth and comfort of it nearly undid her. Her body shaking, she held in her tears through force of will alone, desperately not wanting to cry.

Dimly, she heard Cal come in. She was on her side, facing away from him as he went into the bathroom. Even when he came back out, she didn't acknowledge him, too focused on holding her emotions in.

The bed shifted as he slid under the covers. He murmured her name questioningly, touching her shoulder. She knew he could feel her shaking. His voice soft and warm with compassion, he said, "Come here, sweetheart," and pulled her into his arms.

His touch was like a trigger, releasing her control. She turned and clung to him, face buried in his chest, sobbing as though her heart had broken. Crying for James Carmichael and for Cal and for herself. She felt Cal's arms around her, holding her fiercely, only loosening when she'd cried herself out, when the knot inside her finally eased enough that she could breathe again.

He still held her then, one hand gently rubbing her back. She relaxed her own hold but didn't pull away. "I'm sorry," she murmured into his shirt.

"Nah," he said quietly, " there's no need to apologize for a good cry, especially after a day like today."

She shuddered a little, the memory still too fresh in her mind. He lifted his hand to stroke her hair. "You shouldn't have had to see that," he murmured.

She pulled back a little, enough to look at him. "No one should have. I mean," she shook her head briefly, "it shouldn't have happened, but beyond that --"

"I'm alright," he interrupted gently. "I've seen plenty of awful things in my time."

The implication was _so what's one more_, but there was a new shadow in his eyes. "How do you deal with it?" she whispered.

He hesitated briefly, considering her. "Used to be I'd do something foolish and self-destructive." He touched her hair again, brushing it back with a gentle hand. "These days it seems I come to you." Offering a small smile, he added, "Guess that's what friends are for."

She heard the words, but the way he looked at her held a love that went beyond friendship. For an instant she wished she wasn't so tired, so emotionally drained. She might have kissed him; they might have turned this bit of comfort into a celebration of life. Now that she was finally relaxing, though, the weight of exhaustion pressed down on her. The best she could do was to settle against him, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest. When he covered it with his own, she turned hers and laced their fingers together, lightly.

She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head. "Good night, love."

"Good night," she murmured and, wrapped in his warmth, slipped into a dreamless sleep.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Unwind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/36187) by [featherjean (joyfulfeather)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joyfulfeather/pseuds/featherjean)




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